False Dawn
by Sicari
Summary: Harry had greatness forced upon him, but that was not a bad thing. Only under the greatest of pressures could coal become diamond. Of course he was liable to shatter, but Harry was no stranger to adversity. He will face his destiny and carve out his own reality. A person is defined by their actions, but shaped by their experiences.
1. Prologue

Greatness for some is not a goal, but a consequence of their actions.

It was raining outside, a cold drizzle that plittered and plattered against the ground in soft waves. Harry idly brushed his index finger gently across the varnished wooden frame of his cupboard's small window and gazed quietly at the tiny film of dust that had accumulated on his skin. Another day soon to be gone, the last vestiges of the setting sun disappearing beneath the dark line of the horizon, and here he was sitting in his cramped cupboard while his cousin was outside playing with his friends. For a boy of the tender age of eight, the freedom of the outside was a siren lure to his wild imagination. While he could be physically trapped within his bedroom, his mind was free to roam within the limitless imaginary world where he was not just ordinary Harry, a child living with his Aunt and Uncle in a boring suburban area, no, for in this world he was Prince Harry, slayer of dragons and monsters - he was shaken from his reverie as a harsh voice shattered the shining world he had spun into splinters that faded away, leaving behind the darkened sky that glittered with countless stars.

His Uncle was calling Harry to dinner, and Harry knew from experience that there was no avoiding coming out. Silently, he trudged out of his room and entered the kitchen that was immediately right of the hallway that his cupboard opened into. He saw the Dursley family seated in their habitual places in front of the television and grimaced. His relatives had forbidden him from using the television and the only time he had been able to watch was at school when the teacher decided to bring a movie or film to share with the class. It was something that Dudley, his cousin, loved to rub in his face. Harry quickly grabbed his plate from the table, happy for once that the plate was rather scarce. The Dursleys abhorred leftovers from his plate, and the last time he had left some food on the plate. Harry shivered and cut the train of thought. Some things were better forgotten. He brought it back into his room and quickly polished off the small serving of mashed potatoes and two strips of fried chicken. Feeling thirsty, he opened downed the glass of water beside the plate and drank it down in small sips. His Aunt was extremely strict on his manners and yet Dudley was never disciplined for any of his misbehaviors.

He placed his dishes in the sink and quickly washed and rinsed his plate. He then tip-toed to his Aunt who was sitting on a couch with Dudley leaning into her side. His Aunt turned as she caught sight of his approaching form in her peripheral vision.

"Thank you for the food Aunt Petunia." Harry said in an expressionless voice. A wave of her hand told him that she had acknowledged his words and he scampered off. The evening ritual completed, he was at last free to go back on his quest to save the princess from the mean giant. First though, he had his homework, and his cousin's too, to finish. He opened the textbook and quickly did the arithmetic questions that had been assigned by the teacher. Sadly for Harry, Dudley was in a different class and so he had two sets of math problems to solve. Fortunately, he was very good at math and the questions were done in a neat and proper fashion within a few minutes. He wrote his name on his work and left Dudley's blank. He was careful to write in Dudley's messy scrawl and made sure that Dudley's homework was not too tidy. His cousin would beat him up if the teacher found out that he was not actually doing his homework and Harry had no desire to puke his stomach out again.

The next day at school, Harry smiled politely to Ms. Primrose, his homeroom teacher. She gazed back with a bright smile, telling him how well he had done on the math test from last week and he kept his smile until she had moved on the next student. Aunt Petunia had initially been very annoyed that he was getting good grades, but when he had purposefully flunked the following test, she had had a discussion with Vernon and they had ... reprimanded him for the abysmal grade. From then on, they had expected nothing less than perfection from him, taking delight at his failures and punishing him severely for them. Harry had quickly found out that the best way to not get hurt was to be the best. There was no other way and despite the harsh treatment and pressure, he had persevered and thrived. He was worried about next year though, he was going to skip a grade and he did not want to get punished for not being able to do as well as he used to once the work got harder. So he had been regularly frequenting the library and reading up on the textbook for next year.

Ms. Primrose was his favorite teacher and the only one who he liked because she was always cheerful and genuinely seemed to love teaching the students. The other teachers always wore a fake smile and treated the students like idiots, not that Harry could really fault them since the students were mostly idiots, but Ms. Primrose was always patient and had never yelled at any of them. Even Dudley liked her and that was rare as Dudley hated school and the teachers. Harry hated school as well, because he was always scared that he would get a bad grade and his Uncle would get mad. But he also liked learning although most of the classes were boring and slow. Ms. Primrose had told him that he could always come to her if he had any questions, even on the things that he was to learn next year! He had received many tips and explanations, to which he was immensely grateful because he was sure that without which he could not have understood the material. The textbooks were really dry and hard to understand sometimes, but he was slowly getting there.

By the time his twelfth birthday rolled in, he was getting ready to enter his last year of high school. The Dursleys were more than happy to accredit his marks at school to their handiwork, and Harry did not bother to lash out. The best revenge, he felt, was to get away from the Dursleys as quickly as possible.

Harry gazed around his room. Gone was the stuffy cupboard with its dark and dusty walls, instead in its place was the spare bedroom that Dudley used as storage for his toys. The room was spacious enough to fit three pieces of furniture and held in the corner beside the window a closet as well. One large bookshelf, a work desk and a bed was pretty much all the room could hold, but compared to his previous living abode, this was more than enough. His bookshelf was filled with books, neatly divided into sections so he could navigate easily among the long rows. Not that he really needed to, seeing as most of the books on the shelf he had already read more than a dozen times.

Harry still remembered vividly how he had come to acquire this room. It still puzzled him why his Uncle had done what he did, but there was little he could have done to change what had occurred. Dudley's attempt to foster his homework onto Harry had finally backfired that day, his Uncle had found out and he had been very upset. Expecting some sort of punishment, Harry waited with a sense of dread in his cupboard, shuddering every time he heard his uncle's yell. Dudley was being severely chastised by both his parents, and this was the first time Harry had ever seen Dudley get yelled at. As the voice of his Uncle finally settled, Harry idly wondered if he was going to live through the night. Morbid thoughts filled the over-imaginative mind of the ten year old and he gave a start as his cupboard door opened abruptly. His Aunt's sour face ducked in and ordered him to the living room. Harry trudged out, looking like a man about to face a firing squad, or at least he imagined that was what his face looked like, he could not be sure. Uncle Vernon was sitting on the couch, looking very upset. Upon seeing Harry, his face twisted in a very bizarre sort of way before settling into a frown.

"Boy, we've decided that from now on you are not to do Dudley's homework. I've already spoken with Dudley about this." At this point, he took a deep breath and looked at Aunt Petunia sternly. She sniffed and looked away. Rather confused at what was going on, Harry remained expressionless, even as his heart hammered in his chest. When was he going to be punished?

"I've talked it over with Petunia, and we have decided that from now on," again Vernon paused and seemed to look everywhere but at Harry. "From now on," his Uncle continued, "you will move into the spare bedroom." Harry tried very hard to not gape and managed to temper his surprise into a widening of his eyes. His Uncle's face twisted back into that strange expression, the same one he had when he had first seen Harry earlier. "That will be all, you can take your stuff and move them up into the spare room."

Elated at the lack of punishment, Harry quickly nodded and stated his customary "Thank you Uncle/Aunt Vernon/Petunia", a slight hint of emotion bleeding into his normally bland tone before walking quickly back to his room. It would be years before Harry understood what happened that day.

School was challenging enough, Harry mused to himself as he lay on his soft bed. If there was one trait that he would associate himself to in terms of schoolwork, it would be inquisitiveness. He did not excel in his studies because of diligence, as many of his older peers thought, though certainly he was organized, but it was because he sought comprehension rather than memorization. That was the key to attaining expertise in the subject matter. By understanding, he was able to adapt and learn not just the effects and consequences, but also the cause and nature of things. Though math was a little trickier, since the school seemed adamant that the students learn by memorizing formulas and solving problems over and over. Tedious, but since Harry loved a good puzzle, he did not shirk at the repetitive nature of the problems. It helped that the teachers liked him and despite proclaiming themselves to be neutral and fair to all students, showed hints of favoritism to his situation every now and then. Harry smirked as he remembered that one teacher who had immediately taken a dislike to him, a Mr. Gerald who taught world history. The man had been annoyed by Harry's frequent questions and refused to elaborate on some of the key events in his lectures. Harry had at first believed in the words on his teacher, but quickly was disabused of the notion that history was one of the few subjects that had a fixed answer after reading some of the books pertaining to the subject. Wars defined the human race in much of history and only the victors words were heard making it such that more often than not events were not completely comprehensive and truthful.

Skepticism fit himself well, Harry mused to himself. After all, trust was for the blind.

Harry faced an interesting dilemma. Up till now, his education had been a broad stroke upon the canvas of knowledge, but now he had to thin his brushstroke and choose with which paintbrush he would set out into the world with. His excellence in academics provided him with a multitude of choices and more likely than not he could choose any of the doors he wanted. His focus in high school did tend a little toward the sciences, but that was unsurprising since arts and literature were always a little difficult to properly teach. Had Harry been born to a caring family who brought him up with the care he desired, he would most likely have chosen to be a doctor or lawyer, an academic route that would guarantee a stable life and moderate to high income, which coupled with his drive for excellence, would have surprised no one when he eventually became one of the world's finest in whatever field he chose. At least, he flattered himself into thinking that. Giving himself a proverbial mental slap, Harry set a mental warning that he was getting a little arrogant. It was difficult to identify where the line between self-confidence and arrogance crossed, but Harry thought that self-confidence came from knowing and taking pride in one's excellence whereas arrogance derived itself from taking pride in being better than everyone else. Getting back to the matter at hand, Harry thought a little in what he wanted from life. Young as he was, there was no rush for him to decide now which career path he should take, after all it would be a lot harder to come back after spending a few years in a law school, or a medical school for that matter. He would rather spend some time drifting about and learning more of the world and how humans operated, and once he had sated his curiosity, he could then choose which career path he desired. Time and money were the usual concerns for a student who does not immediately take a career orientated path, but luckily for him, neither applied. Yet. He was thirteen, so that left him with about five years or so before he was 'supposed' to choose a line of work, and his finance was covered by his scholarship, which would no doubt be dependent on his academic score, but that did not worry Harry in the slightest. It was after pondering all this that he decided to choose his major and minor in philosophy and psychology respectively.

Dudley was now a mere nuisance and the Dursleys as a whole were no longer as menacing as they used to be. The demons that haunted his childhood were banished as he realized that taking philosophy had been one of the worst and best choices he had ever made. Only time would tell which it truly was, for never before had Harry's conception of reality been shattered more times than in his courses. He remembered vividly the first time he had come to the realization that the world was not how he thought it was.

He knew from a very early age that parents loved their children and that family was special. But he never realized that it was not always true. Not until that day when he saw Dudley break his toy by throwing it at the wall, no doubt in a childish fit of rage for some inane reason, before gaping in shock as the toy broke, it was no doubt one of those silly toys made in China or Thailand, horrible quality made up for it by its bright color and sheer quantity. Realizing that his thoughts were drifting, Harry thought back to that memorable day, pulling his thoughts away from his imaginary factory where hundreds upon hundreds of small children slaved away to make the plastic figurines that made up most of the toy markets these days. Dudley had naturally proceeded to cry, and when Aunt Petunia had come running in looking flustered and worried, as any parent would when their precious child cries, Harry had thought all was well with the world. Then Dudley had pulled an incredibly devious plan, in his mind, and pinned the blame on Harry. Now usually, this would have fallen apart the moment Dudley tried, since Harry had been confined to his corner and could not have possibly been able to throw the toy and break it, not without crossing the living room and going past his Aunt. However, upon asked the question, Dudley fibbed as all children are prone to do when their initial fib fails. Tell a lie to protect a lie. But Dudley was a kid so he blurted the first thing that came to mind. He said that the toy had decided all on its own to smash against the wall and it was all Harry's fault because he had wanted the toy for himself and he was jealous and also because he had been staring at Dudley the whole time. Harry, who secretly was indeed jealous, could only look on in complete befuddlement as his Aunt, who instead of realizing that such a thing was not possible, turned pale and quickly reassured Dudley that they would get him another of the toys and told him to go up to his room. After that, Harry found himself getting yelled at, though he could not for the life of him understand why. Something about being an ungrateful and jealous prat. That would mark the beginning of his miserable childhood. He had been punished by being sent into the cupboard without supper, and he could still remember that moment as he sat on his hard and cold mattress, when the realization struck him as hard as the hunger pangs that had only mildly abated moments before, his Aunt loathed him. Or as he had put it back then, hated him.

Dudley was quick to pin accidents on Harry's mysterious telekinetic abilities and his mother was more than willing to indulge and seemed to actually believe it. So much so that Harry was completely convinced that he was able to do some sort of mysterious ability and spent and entire evening doing everything he could think of to pull out a non-accidental magical event. He was quickly disabused of his delusion when nothing happened.

His Uncle was apathetic towards him, since they were not related, Harry did not really find that surprising. But his Aunt, who knew his mother and father, detested him even though he was certain she should have at least liked him. For such a young and precocious child as Harry was, the blow seemed to be more painful than any of his previous experiences combined. The later years would only be further proof of his Aunt's intense dislike toward him.

But that was a long time ago and Harry had long outgrown that part of his life. He had been angry the last two years though he was careful to mask his anger by tempering it into a sort of passive apathy. He never showed any emotion to his relatives and tried to avoid all contact with them. Hilariously, though that might not be the proper word to use, Harry diverted all his time to studying and learning as those were the only two options he had. It was that or spend time at home, where he would be in the same breathing space as his relatives. He had had to refuse attending any of his peer's parties, initially thwarted by Dudley who loved to prey on his cousin's passiveness, but as he outdistanced Dudley in his academic and social sphere, he realized he could not because there was a gap between himself and his peers, which only grew as time passed. It did not help that they would often try to ask his relatives, who were more than happy to say "No, Harry can't attend because he's _studying_." As if Harry needed to study that much. Harry realized quickly that he was becoming a sort of social reject outside of school. Though he was well treated and it was evident that his peers respected him, to say the least, and the girls would fawn over his 'cuteness', Harry was unable to find anyone to call a friend. The most he had were acquaintances, fellow kids who worked with him on a project every now and then, but given that he could never spend time nor contact them outside of school time, he was never able to really get to know them. And then there was that girl he had had a crush on... No. Better not to think of that disaster, he was liable to get depressed just by thinking about it. Harry resolutely decided to think of cheerful thoughts. What had spawned this whole self-examination? Ah yes, he had been thinking about how reality-shattering philosophy was. Given that Harry no longer knew what was right and what was wrong, since there were so many moral templates to choose from and so far he tended toward the utilitarian one. The ends justify the means! Just kidding, but seriously, Harry was quite disillusioned about the whole concept of absoluteness. Everything was relative to something else and depending on where you looked at it, the world was a different place. Harry was pretty sure he had just misquoted Einstein there, and that had he done that on his essay he would have been promptly accused of plagiarism and his academic life would have been over. He was also apparently a tad melodramatic in his thoughts now. Cursing having gone into philosophy for the millionth time, Harry found himself a hypocrite once more as he proclaimed aloud, in his mind only of course as there was no need to let others know he was a tad insane, because talking to himself was only the initial step and he did not really have to worry about actually being insane, at least not until he started replying to back - monologuing fell in the safe zone - the self-test manual "How to know if you are insane in five easy steps" had clearly stated that, going back to his proclamation, Harry pretended he regretted going into philosophy when really there was nothing he truly could regret. After all, the last years had been incredibly enlightening.

Harry found that he now did not immediately feel a surge of anger at his relatives when they pressed him into doing some inane chore, rather a deep sense of pity as he realized that very soon he would be able to completely leave them and live by himself. He was only fifteen, but pretty soon he would able to claim independence for himself. Freedom beckoned and Harry only saw a flawed human being who was quite obviously angry at Harry's mother. Or at least he assumed so, his psychology classes were quite helpful in allowing him to profile other people, although he was careful not to let it prejudice him, and he made sure that his observations and conclusions were done based on an understanding: the human being is capable of far more than he could imagine. He was quite ready to close the chapter on his Aunt, but since he did not know exactly why she detested him so much, or rather what he represented, Harry decided that his Aunt must have been slighted by his mother or at least felt such so that she could only hate him for what he represented. The last vestiges that connected his deceased mother to his petty Aunt. Harry had no idea how right he was for all the wrong assumptions.

His Uncle had mellowed out even as his Aunt's treatment of him had gotten worse, though now that he had outgrown physical abuse, she was reduced to lectures which were far and wide between the massive amount of chores she tried to pawn off to him. So really, it was a good trade-off. His Uncle had tried to please his Aunt by following along in her rather unreasonable treatment of Harry, but eventually his innate moral compass forced him to act out and give Harry what was much needed. Harry was under no illusion that had Vernon Dursley been a lesser person, his childhood would have qualified for extreme abuse. As it was, it only mildly qualified. Not that this was good in any way, but it was better to have suffered less than more. Harry was thankful for his Uncle's many interventions, especially that time when he had been moved from his cupboard to the spare room. He now knew that his Uncle had been feeling remorseful for his actions against his nephew, and that his expression had been one of regret, but Harry had been too young to know what regret meant, never mind what it looked like. Over the years, his Uncle had tried to give Harry some space, but Aunt Petunia was adamant in her treatment and his Uncle was not a man who would go against her for a nephew that was not related to him. Plus, Harry had a niggling feeling that his Uncle knew exactly why Aunt Petunia acted the way she did, but Harry did not fault his Uncle for being weak. Not much at least. His resentment of his Uncle had nothing on his resentment toward his Aunt. It was a mix of equal loathing and pity.

Still, Harry was willing to be the bigger man and let it pass, since the revenge stories he read tended to have a rather negative consequence on the protagonist. Dumas' "The Count of Monte Cristo" was one of his favorite works and it showcased precisely how dangerous revenge was. The protagonist might have had his revenge, but it had not brought him an iota of happiness. Satisfaction perhaps, but an empty one. Harry shuddered and hoped that he would never fall into that destructive loop.

Now then, all he needed was to return the silly letter he had received. He had only opened it because the parchment it was written in looked of high quality, but then he could not really tell since he had never had the chance to explore the different mediums of paper. He stuck with the all useful lined paper that pretty much every person used. He had not really read past the first few sentences, but that was more than sufficient for him to draw a conclusion. He was not interested in joining a school that taught people how to do magic tricks, that was not a field he was interested in. To watch perhaps, he had nothing but respect for some of the incredible feats of magic that he saw on the television, but to learn? No thanks. Quickly scribbling back a polite, thanks but no thanks, Harry dumped the letter back into the mailbox. Taking a deep breath, he turned his face upward and gazed at the starry night sky. Soon. Soon he would be free of living in a home that he did not want to call home. Soon he would be free to live how he wanted. Soon he would be able to go out to parties and hang out with friends. He had endured and overcome six years of a miserable life, he could hold on just a little bit more. Smiling, Harry turned back to his current abode and walked slowly back, savoring the fresh night scent and whistled a soft tune as he trod back into the house, his mind filled with aspirations and dreams of freedom.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Harry was not sure what he felt as he stared in stupefaction at the lunatic who stood at the front of his door wearing purple robes and looking like a discount version of Gandalf from the Lord of the Rings series. The whiteness of hair, the wrinkles and the half tinted moon glasses were clear signs that the man was far along in his seventies, yet the physique and atmosphere did not match. In fact, if Harry had to put it in words, he would have described the old man as electrifying. There was no sign of lethargy in the motions of the person and the eyes belied no fatigue. The serene expression on the individual's face indicated either an incomprehension at how odd he stood out or a complete lack of concern at how others would perceive him.

"Might I come in, Mr. Potter?" The lunatic spoke and Harry was pulled from his shock back into the situation at hand. The Dursleys were out at the moment, but would be back anytime from their celebration of Dudley's birthday.

Harry was about to politely refuse, and the words were already on the tip of his tongue, but he felt a sort of complacency as he continued to look at the smiling old man.

"Er. No! Because you look a few cards short of a full deck." Harry blurted out at length, somewhat surprised at his own words. He had meant to say a polite no and close the door, but for some bizarre reason he was very much tempted to allow the old man in. He had hesitated, but eventually his rationality won out and he had stated his 'no', albeit in a blunt and direct way. What was surprising was the guilt that had come along after, even though Harry knew he had done nothing wrong which was why he had tacked on his explanation for his refusal, something which he had no intention whatsoever to say aloud. At least in present company.

Of all things to happen next, laughter was certainly not one Harry expected. But indeed, the old man was chuckling. "Surprisingly honest Mr. Potter! I only mean to take a few moments of your time and I mean you absolutely no harm. The information I have concerns your deceased parents." Toward the end, the old man's tone had turned toward a more sombre note.

Harry felt as if he was at crossroads. On one hand, everything he knew of anything was telling him to get away from the crazy delusional senile old man in front of him as fast as he could, but his instincts were in direct conflict.

"Alright." Harry assented after a few moments of internal debate. "I will hear you out here first."

The old man had been carefully examining Harry as he pondered on allowing the man in or not, and Harry squirmed a little and shifted on his feet. The gaze was quite intense and for some odd reason, he felt as if the aged elder was scrutinizing him.

"Ah, forgive me. The mind tends to wander at my age." The momentary feeling of discomfort slid away almost as suddenly as it appeared. "I was the headmaster of the institution your parents attended and a personal friend to both your parents. I am here to explain to you the events that led up to their deaths as well as extending an offer to attend the same establishment as your parents."

"Perhaps we should take it into the living room." Harry relented at last, there was no real harm in allowing such an old man to come in. "Please come in," Harry beckoned as the old man made no movement to step through the threshold.

At his words, the old man seemed to relax slightly and carefully stepped across the doorstep. Wondering if he should assist the old man, Harry paused, but it was not needed. Whatever reason for the careful step melted away as the old man strode in completely at ease. For half a second, Harry was almost sure that the last few minutes of his life were a by-product of an incredibly real hallucination. Then he caught sight of the purple clothes and shook his head slightly.

"Would you like some tea or something else to drink?" Harry asked politely as they sat facing each other over the wooden desk that was situated between two cushioned chairs.

"No need," the wizened elder smiled back. "Thank you for the offer, but I believe it is time that we discussed about your heritage, Mr. Potter."

"Please, Harry is fine." Harry blushed a little at being so formally referred to.

"Harry it is then." The smile seemed to stretch a little further. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I was a close friend of your parents. They were James Potter and Lily Potter nee Evans."

Harry nodded, so far this was no news to him. Petunia had told him of his parent's accidental death in some sort of explosion.

Dumbledore paused slightly before continuing. "I am not sure if you are aware of the nature of their deaths."

Harry had a premonition that things were about to take a nose-dive. "I was informed that they died in an explosion of the accidental nature." His words were hesitant and he just knew something was not adding up.

Albus closed his eyes briefly before clarifying. "I'm afraid that their deaths were neither caused by an explosion nor was it accidental." He let the words sink in and gazed neutrally back at Harry.

"Are you... are you saying that they died because... they were murdered?" Harry stuttered out.

"Yes." Albus replied curtly and Harry felt his initial doubts wash away. There did not seem to be any real reason for Dumbledore to lie, though Harry desperately wished none it were true.

"How can I know if you are telling the truth?"

"Before I can explain, I must first inform you of something that you may or may not have known." Dumbledore hesitated slightly before continuing. "Your parents were wizards and they were able to perform magic." Albus continued on "Magic is real, and if you require proof, I will need your permission to cast a spell in order to demonstrate," sensing that this was rather difficult for Harry to believe. Rightly so, because Harry was beginning to feel his old doubts resurge in his chest at the ludicrous words. He should have listened to his brain earlier and not let the obviously crazy - at this point he caught up to what Albus had said.

"What?" Harry was completely befuddled. _Cast a spell? What did that mean? _Dumbledore was visibly uncomfortable and the loss of composure was affecting Harry equally.

It was at this precise moment that the door unlocked itself and the Dursleys stumbled in.

Petunia walked through the drapes that hung over the entry way to the living room and stopped dead at the sight before her. Her expression paled and she gasped aloud.

"You!" She shrieked out. "What are you doing in here! Get out! GET OUT!"

Her exclamation caught both parties by surprise and suddenly tremors shook the entire room. Was it an earthquake? Harry suddenly found it hard to breathe as an overwhelming force pressed down on the entire room. Vernon had run over to the living room now, and Dudley cowered beside him. Dumbledore had stood up and ... was that sparks coming from around his body? There was a pale blue nimbus that shone around him, bleeding sparks like a live wire. He had a stick out in his right hand and some sort of barrier was covering his figure. His face was visibly paler than before.

"It seems," he gasped out, "I have overstayed my welcome. Harry, might I ask that we continue this another time?" He was looking quite unwell at this point and Harry could not find it in him to refuse. He nodded curtly and Albus's visage relaxed slightly.

Then he disappeared.

Harry hated not understanding what was going on. At first, he was sure the old man, Dumbledore as he called himself, was a senile lunatic. After all, no sane person would dress up in purple robes and wander around in broad daylight, much less strike up conversation with other people. But, once the initial impression faded somewhat, Harry had much liked talking with Dumbledore, who was refreshingly calm and lucid. Once the subject of his parents were brought up, he had felt a surge of excitement intermingled with apprehension and nervousness. To be fair, never before had anyone talked with him at length about his deceased parents. Aunt Petunia had at most simply explained to him that they were permanently gone, and that the cause was purely accidental. The matter had been dropped then, and Harry was never inclined to mention them in his Aunt's presence again. After all, Petunia had adopted a particularly bitter tone upon broaching the subject of his parents.

Then that bit about wizards and magic came up. The same words mentioned in the letter that Harry had rejected. Coupled with his Aunt's reaction this afternoon, Harry was now completely lost. He knew that there was a missing piece of the puzzle and that if he knew what it was, everything would fall into place and make sense, but alas he could not find that missing piece. One thing was sure however, his Aunt knew who the old codger was and going by her tone, she knew exactly what was going on. Harry shuddered slightly as he realized that in order for him to seek the answers he desired, no needed, he would have to brave her temper and dislike. Harry had spent the last few years trying to find all sorts of ways to keep any interaction with his Aunt to a bare minimum, and it had worked quite well. Now, however, he was going to have to destroy all the work he had done over the last few years, all on the insane words of an insane man. Deciding that he would lose his courage if he thought about this anymore, he reached out and opened his door. The answers he sought were too important. No risk, no gain. He descended the stairs in search of his Aunt.

She was sitting outside in the backyard deck. The garden seemed to be an image of serene peacefulness, completely at contrast with the chaotic inner sensations that Harry felt. He took strength from the complete apathy of nature and used a mental trick to calm himself down. He told himself that the world did not care about his insignificant troubles and that the sun would rise from the east and set in the west no matter what happened. By facing himself with the immensity of the cosmos and the sheer vastness of the world outside and around him, Harry made himself feel small and humbled. It always managed to calm himself down. He approached her with soft footsteps.

Vernon was nowhere to be found and Harry felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back. He was scared of his Aunt, and felt a deep shame in that fear, but he knew it was normal and that he could and would overcome it. It helped that in the darkening twilight, the pale lines on his Aunt's face were more pronounced than ever and seemed to add a few years onto her visage. For the first time since he could remember, she looked vulnerable, mortal. This was not the bogey-woman who haunted his memories, this was simply another human being who made mistakes. Taking a deep breath, silently so as not to give away his inner emotional turmoil, he called out softly, "Aunt Petunia, may I speak with you about earlier today?"

Harry could barely remember the last time when he had been the one to initiate a conversation with his Aunt.

She did not turn to look at him, but replied with a curt, "Sit." There was a faint, but noticeable tremor in her voice and Harry felt at the same time bolstered and fearful. He quietly sank into the other folding chair beside his Aunt.

"I suppose that I have a few things to tell you." His Aunt's voice was bitter, but also defeated. "I had hoped to never tell you any of this, and in fact I had sworn to do so. But now that that ... man has come to our house, I can no longer pretend that everything is normal." She drew a shuddering breath and continued. Harry did not dare to interrupt. "My sister, your mother, was always different." Her voice grew bitter and jealous, but Harry was struck not by that, but by how weary it sounded. "She was always the prettier one and I could always tell that our parents favored her. She was smart, kind and determined and excelled whereas I was always just average. Then, on her sixteenth birthday, a letter came addressed to her. We found out just how different she was. She was a witch."

Harry could not suppress the a sudden inhalation as his surprise momentarily overcame his thought processes.

"Yes," his Aunt continued, ignoring his surprise and continuing to not gaze in his direction. She was looking into the distance, no doubt reminiscing about the past long gone. "At first we thought it was some sort of hoax, but then a witch came into our home and showed us magic for the first time. Soon after, your mother quit college and went to study magic at that school of hers. She met your father there and had you. I was initially very happy that she was gone. With her disappearing year and year to the magic school, I thought I would finally have my parents attention to myself. But they continued to fawn over Lily and if nothing else, the fact that she could perform magic of her own seemed to make them love and treasure her even more. I quickly realized I had no real place in that family and despite Lily's insistent requests to visit, I quickly cut all ties with my family." Petunia stopped.

Harry could imagine quite vividly and for the first time he felt some stirrings of pity well deep inside of him. Quickly, he suppressed it and waited patiently for his Aunt to continue. He was still skeptical, but there was a time for questions and this was not it.

The silence stretched for a second more and the sunset glow had turned a deep brick red akin to that of the redness of an ember. Petunia abruptly resumed her story. "I had married Vernon and explained some of the story to him. I kept quiet about the magic, simply calling it a special ability and that was that. My life was steady and though I cannot say I was ever fully happy, I was content. My new family gave me all the things I never had before and though we were initially poor, things were brightening. We even had a child of our own. Then came the news. I had known that Lily was married to someone, but I never knew the details. I woke one morning and there you were on the doorstep. Only a letter beside you explained what had happened. My fool of a sister and her husband had been killed in the line of duty. Or some sort of rubbish like that. I always knew she should never have gone to that school." Petunia's voice was a little hoarse.

Harry was not sure what he felt. He opted to listen some more.

"I never intended to tell you any of this. I had planned to simply let this chapter close and I had hoped that they would not come for you like they did for my sister. I ... you..." She trailed off and Harry wondered what she had wanted to say.

Harry asked a question that had been burning in his mind ever since Dumbledore had left. "Did you know the man who was here earlier today?"

"The man that was here was the same man who wrote the letter beside you. The last time I saw Lily was during her marriage ceremony and Dumbledore," his Aunt spat the name out angrily, "was present at the wedding. He is the one I hold responsible for Lily's death."

Harry quietly processed everything. The night sky had opened up and the stars shone brilliantly. They were light years away in unknown territory; his thoughts wandered a similarly unknown landscape. Somewhere above him, a star could have died and he would never have known. For all he could see were the light of their past. Shaking his head, he focussed back to the task at hand, his past was no place to get lost in. Aunt Petunia was silent and the lack of light hid her face from Harry's solemn gaze.

Harry had no idea what his Aunt was feeling. "Thank you Aunt Petunia." Harry murmured at last, meaning the words for the first time in a long time.

His Aunt did not reply, and Harry quietly excused himself and left for his room.

Petunia sat in the deck of her backyard and it was a long time before she moved. "I'm so sorry, Lily." Petunia whispered into the cooling night air.

The next morning, after Dudley had left for school and Vernon for work, Aunt Petunia told Harry that she had some shopping to do and would not be home until later that evening. There were some leftovers in the fridge, and then she was gone. Harry quietly paced around in his room, wondering if Dumbledore was going to come again.

A soft knock on the door had him bolting for the entrance door. He peered through the eyehole and grinned. The old man was indeed here. He opened the door and could not suppress a small smile.

"Hello Mr. Dumbledore." Harry greeted politely, withholding his desire to bombard the old man with questions.

"Hello Mr. Potter, it is good to see you again. Please call me Albus, Mr. Dumbledore makes me feel quite old! May I?" Dumbledore's tone of voice was so matter of fact that Harry almost laughed aloud at the sheer irony of his statement.

"Oh yes. Please come in, er, Albus," Harry sidestepped and closed the door behind him as Dumbledore strode past in movements that were entirely too quick and impossible for someone of his advanced age to make.

"I guess you have many questions that you wish to ask me?" Dumbledore gazed seriously back at Harry after they were seated once again in the living room.

"Yes. Quite a number of them. Can we start with my parents? Harry asked shyly, "And please, Harry is fine." Excitement and nervousness warred inside him, leaving him feeling a little out of control. He had already been anticipating this moment since last night, after Petunia's explanation, and truth be told he had barely slept a wink. Despite that, he felt completely energized and concentrated.

"Of course, I will try to answer to the best of my abilities." Dumbledore's smile bolstered Harry's spirit.

"Why were they killed and who killed them?" Harry's voice was steady although his hand trembled slightly.

Dumbledore smile dimmed a little, but he answered smoothly no doubt expecting the question. "Before I can answer that question, it is imperative that you understand some background information. At the time of their death, there was a war waged between two factions in the wizarding world. I shall take it that you know nothing at all of your wizard heritage?" Dumbledore asked and Harry could not help the slight blush that heated up his cheeks.

"You would be right." Harry composed himself quickly by taking a deep breath.

Dumbledore nodded to himself and continued. "Then I will start with a brief introduction to our world. The wizarding world is beside the mundane one, concealed through charms and wards that repel muggles, a term wizards use to refer to non-magicals. Though our worlds exist on the same plane, we are careful to mitigate our interactions with the muggle world and it is expressly forbidden to reveal magic to any non-magical except in certain familial cases." Dumbledore paused and took out a stick. It was a beautifully polished wooden stick and the dark matte of the wood seemed to gleam under the pale light of the Dursley's living room.

"Allow to me to demonstrate with a practical usage of magic. Wizards and witches are capable of doing amazing things with their wands." Dumbledore then tapped the desk between the two of them and Harry looked on in stupefaction as a tray of cookies and two glasses of water appeared from thin air. "The marvels of conjuring, a branch of transfiguration." Dumbledore's tone was mirthful and Harry grinned back.

"That is incredible." Harry was indeed impressed, especially when he felt the glass and nibbled on a cookie. They felt and tasted completely real.

Dumbledore held up his water and sipped it before resuming his earlier explanation. "The wizarding world is composed mostly of wizards and witches, but there are also many other races, mostly those of sentient magical creatures. Goblins and centaurs are two examples. They co-exist with us, but they do not necessarily hold the same rights as wizards do. I digress," Harry sensed that there were a few details not said, but reasoned to himself that he could find out more information later. "Within the wizard population, there are two main banners which unite individual families. The light side and the dark side." Here Dumbledore paused and looked at Harry to gauge his reaction.

Harry steepled his fingers together and tried to make sense of all the new terms. "I suppose that the war was between the two factions?"

"Yes, your parents were staunch defenders of the light side and they were murdered by the leader of the dark faction, Voldemort. Your parents were instrumental in several skirmishes against the Voldemort's camp and had thrice defied him, thereby incurring his wrath." Albus paused again and looked at Harry carefully. "I myself am accredited with leading the light side and knew your parents well. They had predicted that Voldemort was going to go after them soon after you were born and had planned accordingly. You were born in secrecy and they went into hiding shortly after, telling only a few select members whom they trusted with their lives." Dumbledore paused to give Harry some time to take everything in and then continued his story. "They were found despite the precautions they took and Voldemort struck them down. It is here that things began to become mysterious. Voldemort is well known for his cruelty and he is as powerful as he is insane. Though your parents were excellent fighters, they were unable to prevail and perished in the process. However, when I got to the safe house where your parents were hiding in, there was no trace of Voldemort and from the lingering magic that filled the room, I was able to deduce that he had cast a killing curse at you."

Harry gasped at this, even though he was not entirely sure what this meant, the term 'killing curse' was quite self-explanatory. Dumbledore continued, "The surprising result was that you were still alive, despite the fact that the killing curse was previously discerned to be unblockable and irreversible. Voldemort himself disappeared and it is the opinion of many that you were the cause of his downfall."

How were you supposed to react in a situation like this, Harry wondered. He chose to just sit there and say nothing. After all, what could you say to someone who just informed you that you were supposed to be dead, but you weren't.

"The scar on your forehead was caused by the backlash of the failed killing curse. And truthfully, there was ancient magic at play that night. Perhaps no one will be able to fully understand the events that occurred. Suffice to say, with Voldemort's disappearance, the war quickly ended. Voldemort's tactics were often reliant on generating large amounts of terror and fear, so with his defeat and your survival, many attributed his downfall to you." Dumbledore added quietly, knowing that Harry had a lot to take in. He then waved his wand and a very dry and old newspaper appeared out of thin air. "Perhaps we can talk more another time, for now I will leave you with an offer." He then pulled out from the folds of his purple robes a very familiar parchment.

Harry chuckled sheepishly. "Ah, I did not think what was written inside was literal."

Albus chuckled softly, "Indeed, which is why there is usually an accompanying professor to explain the situation. You are not the first to have refused, and certainly one of the more polite refusals." He placed the letter on the desk and continued, "I understand that this is a very difficult decision for you to make, you will most likely have to leave your friends and enter an unfamiliar world. Rest assured, you will be receiving education from some of the most brilliant witches and wizards there are. In addition, Hogwarts takes care of all housing and meal necessities. You will be staying at the school for the entire semester, and can come home during the summer and winter breaks."

Harry pretended to mull the issue over, but really who was he kidding. The chance to learn and experience something like this was a once in a lifetime chance. He had absolutely no reason to refuse, especially given that he had no real ties binding him to his current life. "I would more than happy to accept," Harry could not contain the smile that stretched across his face.

Dumbledore beamed back and reached a wrinkled hand into his florescent robes and pulled out a thick black book. "I had a feeling that you would accept, so I took the time to procure this book for you." Harry took the heavy book and marveled at the leathery feel of the cover. The back of the massive book was plain without any summary and the only design was a golden insignia of a dragon. Under his curious gaze, Harry saw the design flex marginally as the mouth of the dragon, composed of slender flourishes of golden ink, deepened and opened, from which a burst of vivid red orange ink burst out. The ruby eyes of the dragon gleamed and the vicious curl of the tail mesmerized Harry. A soft cough broke through his momentary lapse of attention and Harry blushed.

"Sorry Albus, I did not realize that the pictures on wizard books moved." He sheepishly scratched the back of his head. Harry could have sworn that the old man jerked, but when he looked up, Albus was relaxed and composed.

"No need to feel sorry for something that is entirely natural. Indeed, if anyone should apologize it would be me, after all I should have warned you ahead of time."

Harry flipped the black leather book and gazed at the completely blank title. Wait. There was a glimmer and Harry tilted the book to get a better look. At a certain angle, the words of the title appeared. When Harry shifted the angle again, the letters faded away. It seemed that the title only revealed itself at a specific angle. The cursive and flowery script was etched onto the dry leather with a symmetry that flowed perfectly. _The comprehensive guide to the wizarding realm and all it's subsidiary dimension. By Salazar Slytherin. First edition. _

Dumbledore spoke up, "I see you have found the illusive title. You will find Harry, that there are major differences between the world you know of and the world you are joining. One key difference is that the traditions of the past remains the same today in the wizarding world. Magic, you will find, stays constant throughout time. The book was written many thousands of years before today, but remains one of the finest guides to the wizarding world."

Harry nodded, though he was having difficulty grasping the sheer difference in culture. Such stagnation would be completely unacceptable in any of the sciences he knew of, and yet he could imagine how it had come about. He needed to wipe away all his prejudices, but it was no easy task. Certain instincts were deeply ingrained in his being, he could no more remove them than cease breathing. "Thank you Albus." He said it earnestly and Dumbledore chuckled softly.

"There is no need to thank me Harry. I invite you to join me at my office should you have any questions during your stay at Hogwarts. My doors are open to all students and there is nothing that cannot be asked." Dumbledore pulled out a golden stopwatch and from the fragmented view Harry momentarily glimpsed as the golden disk was revealed, it was filled with symbols and insignias that he did not recognize at all. "I am afraid I must take my leave. Again, I urge you to write to me should you have any questions. School starts in two more months, and all the details should be provided in the book."

Harry stood and extended his hand out to the frail looking old man. Dumbledore grasped it and the handshake was surprisingly solid. The vitality Dumbledore possessed was incredible, and as the elder took out his wand, Harry blurted out a question that he had for so long wanted to ask. "Albus, if you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"

Dumbledore winked and disappeared, but not before a voice whispered into Harry's ear, "_One hundred and fifteen_!"

"No way!" Harry exclaimed aloud in stupefaction. He must have been joking. Or not, Harry mused to himself. Who knows, maybe wizards had naturally longer life spans. Grinning to himself, he decided to retired to his room for the rest of the day. There was a book to read and a whole new world to explore. Snatching the letter from the desk, Harry rushed up the stairs.


End file.
